Stone
by MonkeySaru
Summary: She turned his heart to stone. Multi-chapter, LWW.
1. Stone

She turned his heart to stone.

With one look into her pale face, the touch of her careful hand on his shoulder, the taste of sweet sugar on his lips, his heart solidified into a gray, unfeeling mass.

Beating slow and erratic, it pumped black hatred through his veins at an alarming rate, turning his blood cold and sending shivers down his spine.

The world didn't hurt anymore.

For the first time in his life, Peter's words didn't sting, Susan's reproachful looks didn't repel him, Lucy's tears didn't drag him down.

He could do anything. Anything at all.

"_They're at the little house in the dam, with the beavers…"  
_

No consequence.

For mere seconds, he felt on top of the world. This is what joy felt like. This was true achievement.

She dragged him down.

Chained to ice in the bitter cold, he blinked. What had happened? Was it something he had said?

The shackles were heavy and bit into his pale skin, leaving red marks where they chafed. He sat in the cold and tried to make the best of it, but at the sound of tall footsteps, his sluggish heart of rock began to beat a little faster. The Faun in the other cell ducked away. He withered as her angry shadow appeared high above him, enveloping him in sudden darkness.

"Where did they go?"

"I…I don't know!"

She raised her wand high to strike him. His eyes widened, and he ducked.

"The beaver said something about Aslan!"

The words fell from his chattering teeth before he could stop them.

The very name caused the stone to shudder, his heart aching. But the feeling subsided as she looked at him with pure contempt, sparing him for the potential he still presented.

The Faun's look of disgust and betrayal as he was dragged from the prison caused his heart to shudder once again, splintering.

"Edmund misses his family."

Thinking of his siblings, the stone cracked, a small fracture down the side as he curled into himself, finding no warmth.

Sitting at her feet, snow hitting his face, he had never been so cold. His stone heart aching with heaviness, as it seemed the longer he was with her, the heavier it became. Daring to glance up at her, he was met with her haughty expression, her eyes boring into his soul and hardening his heart even further. He almost gasped aloud with the feeling. It suddenly hurt to have a heart so heavy.

She had promised him no pain. No worries.

He worried.

The snow soon began to melt. He was dragged along, occasionally slipping in the melting ice, thinking of his family. His heart began to sink further, his hopes dying even as the world around him emanated life.

Would he see them again?

Did he want to?

Stumbling into a sunny glade, he was forced to watch as a fox died even as he tried to save him.

A sharp slap to the face, everything going numb. Tears of shock leaked from the corners as he shut his emotions down, locking them far within his heart.

He couldn't risk getting attached to anything anymore. Apathy was best, now, even as he walked to his death.

His cold heart lent no emotional groan of sorrow, nor did it shake out of anger or pain as he walked ahead of the dwarf, behind the witch, suffering the sharp torment of a whip, causing him to fall to his knees in the mud and the rocks. His hands tied behind him, ropes chafing his wrists and making them bleed terribly. He wondered vaguely if it was black blood, the filth that had been churned through stone for so long.

Suddenly, he was tied to a tree, all hope gone and eyes dully looking on as the camp snuck about quietly beneath the darkness of the crooked winding trees, shrouding them all from the moon's view.

The sound of a knife being sharpened chilled his blood to his core, but he couldn't even shiver. He had no strength left in him.

He was doomed to die.

Even so, his stony heart beat fast as the knife came close, tempo matching the beating of the ground beneath him as his vision began to darken.

Sounds of screaming filled his ears before he could register the fact that he was not sitting against a gnarled tree anymore.

Eyes snapping open, everything was a haze, his heart beating quicker than it had ever beat before, what felt like hope seeping through his body as he was whisked away to somewhere better than this. He didn't care where.

Anywhere was better than this.

Light poured into his eyes as he sat up, pulse thumping wildly as he struggled to identify where he was, how he had gotten there. He was lying on soft, plush cushions and covered with the warmest quilts – he had been sleeping. How long it had been since he had slept! Pulse beginning to slow as he detected that he was in no immediate danger, he slid his cold, bare feet from his bedding onto the grass below, standing up slowly. He regretted that decision immediately as his legs screamed out and his vision began to blacken once more, knees buckling and giving out beneath him.

As he fell, he shut his eyes and braced for the impact, knowing it was inevitable.

He never hit the ground.

Opening his eyes, he blinked, wondering at the sea of gold before him, capturing his gaze for several seconds in his confusion. He looked up.

He was caught in the paws of a very, very large Lion.

He wasn't entirely sure what he should do in such a situation. He settled for just staring wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape into the warm, golden eyes that were much larger than his own. There was no sound for several moments, only the sound of Edmund's own pulse beating harshly in his ears. He began to slowly back away, his breathing shallow, completely entranced but terrified beyond anything he had ever known.

The Lion jumped.

In a flash of gold, the Lion was on top of him, paws on his chest, staring deeply into his eyes. Edmund's face was suddenly full of very large, growling teeth, hot breath blowing harshly through his tangled hair.

He could feel the paws itching to release its fatal claws and sink into his flesh, ending him swiftly.

He didn't dare move. He didn't dare make a single sound.

He was going to die.

Edmund could hardly breathe with the weight on his chest, his eyes wide and full of terror, and all he could think about was his siblings, and were they safe, and how he would never see them again, and how sorry, how truly heart-wrenchingly sorry he was. Lucy, with her silly brown hair and her big blue eyes that he had caused to cry so many times in her young life; Susan, her mothering behavior causing him to turn away from her, to call her bossy and loudmouth and a variety of other nasty names; Peter, the one he had hated the most, the one he had fought with and screamed at and beaten and run from and almost killed – these were the things that plagued his heart of stone, the crack that kept breaking and forming new fractures.

The Lion gave a low, merciless growl, and Edmund knew it was over for him. He would die, and his siblings would never know that he loved them, that he truly did love them with all of his gray, broken heart of stone, and that he was so sorry for everything he had ever done. The Lion shifted, and he took as deep of a breath as he could, eyes going impossibly wider still as he gripped the grass beneath his thin fingers, a tear leaking out from the corner of his eye.

The Lion ducked His head and exhaled a blast of warm air over Edmund's chest.

The boy gasped, his heart beating so fast, the stone being ripped away as the Lion breathed upon him. His vision began to spin fast – he closed his eyes, pulling at the grass beneath his fingers. Everything suddenly hurt.

Oh, God, it _hurt_.

He began to truly feel for the first time in years, the stone torn away, his emotions unleashed in waves. Again, the Lion breathed upon him, and Edmund made the smallest of sounds as the ice around his heart began to melt, the ice beneath the stone. It leaked from his eyes in a rush, bitter tears of sorrow and self-contempt pouring out as he felt completely and utterly broken, lying in the grass, sobbing beneath the feet of the Lion. He blinked away his tears to look up at Him, the One who had saved him from his own heart.

He saw love in His face.

Edmund began to sob once more.


	2. Flesh

Hello, everyone!

I've decided to go ahead and make this a multi-chapter ordeal, here, because I found that while I really liked the cliff-hanger-ey element of the first chapter, there was so much more I wanted to convey and write about, so I've decided to do a few more chapters, and we'll see where that goes. (: reviews are always really appreciated, especially any kind of constructive criticism - I've gotten back into writing after a long hiatus so I'm sure I'm pretty rusty, not to mention I do all my writing when it's late at night and I'm low on sleep, hee hee.

Enjoy! let me know what you think!

* * *

He turned his heart to flesh.

Standing on the hill, silhouetted against the hues of the morning sun peaking across the horizon, he faced the Lion.

His pulse was pounding in his ears as he took shallow, shaking breaths, struggling to find words to describe everything he felt as he stared into those gentle amber eyes. His heart was groaning loud in his chest, aching terribly as wave after wave of guilt and sorrow hit him, until it was too much for him to bear and he fell shakily to his knees, still staring into those eyes.

What he saw in them startled a broken sob from his chest as his heart seemed to shatter within him, pieces sharp and cutting deep.

His eyes falling shut, he couldn't bear to look in His face anymore, so he sank until he was closed upon himself, utterly broken before his Savior, and there he suffered inwardly for a long while. His bruised, frail frame shook as he struggled for control, tears of sheer remorse fighting to fall from his tightly shut eyes as he desperately held on.

"Son of Adam."

That rich, Terrible Voice shook him like thunder, and he hid even further into himself. He couldn't look up. His Voice was so much worse and so much more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. He would rather die than hear it again, and yet he wanted to hear Him speak for many lifetimes. He could not look up.

"Edmund."

The Voice shook him again, more persistently, and he dared not refuse it. Another harsh sob wracked his frame as he held it hostage within his chest, reluctantly lifting his eyes, still unable to look Him directly in the face.

"My Son, why are you distressed so?"

He sounded so sad. Edmund knew the look in His eyes would be sympathetic; The Lion already knew why he was so broken before Him. But He was patient, His tail now and then tapping the soft, rolling grass – even the gentlest of taps sent tremors through Edmund's body. The boy inhaled a shuddering breath, looking everywhere but in His face. The Lion watched patiently.

"Why, Aslan?" he finally choked, out, heart threatening to burst out of his chest again as tears welled up. "Why?"

_Why would You be willing to save me? Why would You save someone who tried to kill his own family? Why would You want to? Why do You __**want me**__?_

He didn't look up. He knew that if he did, all control would break lose again and he would never recover. A single tear trickled down his cheek and he dropped his gaze down to His mighty paws. He whispered very low.

"I should have died," he said to the paws, voice full of bitterness and sorrow. Another gasping, shuddering breath. "Why, Aslan?"

The very Name seared his tongue as he let it escape his mouth. He bit his bloodied lip, squeezing his eyes shut, every fiber of his being dreading and hoping beyond all hope.

"Because I Love you."

That one promise managed to undo every stitch that was holding him together as he collapsed fully before the King, completely broken. Clutching the grass and shaking tremulously, every ounce of shame and loneliness he had ever stored away poured from his shattered heart as he sobbed, unable to contain himself any longer. The Lion pulled him close, sheltering the boy against Himself as he sobbed even harder, his throat rending raw from the grief and the pure thankfulness he could not express in words. They remained like that for a long while.

He clutched at The Lion's mane, feeling the warmth tingle beneath his pale, scratched fingers, eventually calming to a shivering hiccup in his Savior's embrace. Eyes still closed, he breathed heavily, sore and aching from every muscle in his body, heart both sinking and lifted at the same time. The Lion bent down and kissed His child's face, nose becoming wet from the salty tears that still slid down the pale freckled face.

Edmund opened his eyes and met The Lion's, looking into them without saying a word. His entire story was there for Him to read; all the wrong he had ever done, and every thought and emotion that he could not express in words. The burning Love in Aslan's eyes did not falter, and tears began welling up in Edmund's eyes again. This was pure grace, and he knew he had fallen so far from deserving it. "Aslan," he choked. "I'm not worthy to be called your Son."

Aslan studied Edmund's face for a moment, seeing the despair in his expression, and the new, hopeful spark in his eye. He turned His golden face to the sunrise, examining the camp below them and keenly feeling the dull, lustful ache of anguish within Edmund's heart.

"You never will be, My Child. And that is why there is Love."

Edmund stayed silent for a long while, pondering this deep within him as he leaned against Aslan's side, stroking his warm golden fur and feeling finally free for the first time in his life. He was finally free.

He was not done working yet. No, the battle had only just begun. But he was Loved, and that was enough to turn his sorry, foolish beating heart into one of real flesh, one that could feel and love and hope just as he was loved. He looked to Aslan, fresh tears falling down his face.

"I'm so sorry, Aslan. I–"

Aslan held him a little closer, breathing upon him. "Peace, child. You are forgiven."

And Edmund felt peace.


	3. Whole

They made his heart whole.

Hearing his name called in the distance, his head whipped round, eyes frantically searching. The voice pierced through the cool morning mist, full of fire and sweetness and everything he had so longed to hear for so long. His eyes found her, and he felt a true smile creep upon his lips as he turned his face to Aslan, pleading. His joy could not be contained - his new heart throbbed with sheer love and adoration for the One who rescued his family from his own destructive intentions. And then He chose to save him, too. His eyes welled with tears once more, his heart worshipful. He snuck a peek back at his beautiful sisters, desperately wishing to be with them at the bottom of the hill in that instant.

That's when he saw him.

His heart skipped a beat.

Dread began to filter back into his system, his resolve wavering.

He was a liar, a thief, a scoffer, a murderer.

He was a traitor.

And his brother knew that nearly as well as Aslan did.

Somehow, he thought Peter wouldn't be nearly as gracious and absolving as Aslan had been, and the idea of facing him now brought back the stinging pain of remorse and self-loathing. He wished he could hide. His eyes locked with the Lion's and he took a shuddering, gasping breath. His body trembled.

"I can't do it."

"My Love is sufficient for you. Go, I will be with you."

He did as he was told.

His knees shook._ I can't do it._

His broken lip trembled. _I can't do it._

His breathing was shallow and fast. _I can't do it._

His heart thumped against his chest like a caged bird, screaming for escape.

_**I can't do it.**_

He faintly heard the whisper of gigantic paws across the tall grass as he stumbled down the hill, not daring to look up. Not even a glimpse - he couldn't do it.

As he neared them he suddenly began to feel self-conscious as he noticed the wicked cuts and abrasions littering his legs - wounds from the numerous falls and generous whippings, the beatings he began to recieve once Spring had returned three days before. Some cuts had become irritated again and now bled freely - he was a disgusting sight. Shame colored his cheeks, and he did not raise his eyes as he came to a halt an uncomfortable distance from his family.

He felt Aslan's presence leave him - it took all he had not to sprint after him, but his feet were perfectly stuck in place in the soft grass beneath him. He was alone, now - he felt the weight of everyone's eyes upon him and he shrunk visibly.  
He flicked his eyes upwards to meet with ice blue for just a fleeting moment before back down to his torn shoes, feeling crushed beneath the weight of _his_ gaze.

"Hello," he said, unsure of himself and very alone. He wished very much to flee - the silence was suffocating him.  
Warm, tiny arms found their way around him, encircling his waist, aggravating his scars but calming his wild heart. He paused only for a moment only in surprise before wrapping his own around her, losing himself completely in his returning joy. The warmth of her emenating against him was something he had been so sure he would never feel again - it was something he had never wanted before, but too late he had realized how very much he desperately needed it. She snuggled up against him, squeezing him tight - he buried his face in her hair, biting his lip as tears of gratitude threatened to fall. This was the greatest gift Aslan could ever give to him, he was so sure.

Susan came next, looking crestfallen at his appearance, but quickly pulled him into her comforting embrace, rubbing his back in calming circles as their mother used to do. Each pass of her hand resulted in fiery, searing pain, but he bit his tongue and breathed deeply, taking in the sweet familiar smell of her, the flowery fragrance she had always carried. He felt calm and secure once more.

"Are you alright?" She asked, the feigned lightness in her voice giving away her deep concern. She examined him closely, and he felt shame at his appearance once more. He felt so much all at once - the irritated scars, the broken skin, the throbbing bruises, the aches of his muscles, the intense hunger, the fatigue of his being. His pains must have been nullified before Aslan, he now realized, and he was grateful, but the return of pain was a cross he felt he could gladly bear in return for his siblings, so he pressed on. He also felt so much love and sorrow for his family, the family he had split and nearly killed- he wasn't quite sure what to say. He looked down at his feet, shaking his head. "I'm a little tired," he said humbly, smiling a bit at his sister's reaction to his vast understatement. She looked flustered, searching him up and down, and he was so glad to be finally home where he belonged-

"Get some sleep."

The command came from Peter. Edmund's face became sheet white, all the color drained as his heart caught in his throat once more, stepping away from his sisters as though he had been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. He looked up at his brother, eyes wide. Peter stood, seeming to tower over him in his kingly clothes and handsome sword. His blue eyes did not falter, and Edmund looked up into them, searching for any trace of acceptance in them, and finding none. He could not read his brother's expression, but it was steady. Eyes flicking back downward, Edmund reluctantly began walking in the direction Peter gestured toward, his joy replaced with sheer regret and helplessness. He dared not look back at his sisters - he couldn't bear it if they had looked at him with the same stony face his brother did.  
"And Edmund?"

He faltered, glancing backward. Peter's expression had broken a bit, and he could see something in his face, something he wasn't expecting. He didn't even breathe, waiting.

"...I'll be in soon."

Edmund nodded, stumbling toward the tent, anxiously awaiting Peter's arrival.


	4. Worth

He made his heart feel worth.

He stood alone in the shade of the pavilion looking around at the wealth and splendor that surrounded him, sunlight filtering through the brilliant red canvas above his head. There were richly designed pillows and elegantly fashioned vessels, and a heavy scent of incense on the air.

He didn't belong here.

Edmund sighed deeply, feeling his eyelids dropping and his posture slipping as the minutes ticked by, waiting for his brother's arrival. Looking about, he spotted two hammocks hung side-by-side from the ceiling and he decided he would like nothing more than to crawl into one of them, but he knew he mustn't. The warm quilts and velvet cushions looked so inviting, but he stood his ground. He did not deserve the luxuries that were here; he deserved nothing. His hunger and thirst were powerful, and he could feel every muscle in his body slipping to his fatigue, but still he waited. He would not be caught sleeping in his brother's tent - a traitor in his brother's quarters.

He refused to defile the place that belonged to a king.

A pang of remorse washed over him and he breathed out sharply, leaning against a tent post and closing his eyes, dreading what was to come. Left a prisoner to his own thoughts, he could hear Ginnarbrik's shrill, biting voice, sending pure chills down his spine.

_"Outcast..."_

He did not belong here.

oooooo

The golden sunlight poured across the grassy field before him, setting the dew on fire, shimmering like millions of tiny diamonds. Peter breathed in the crisp morning air, taking in the majesty around him, trying desperately to calm his weary soul.

He was conflicted.

Every single cell in his body wanted to turn back, sprint across the camp, fly into his tent and care for and see and feel and hold and love his brother, more than he could want anything else this world would ever offer him. The other part of him was afraid.

So very afraid.

Who was his brother? Who was the boy who had come back to them so broken? What would it take to mend? What could he do? These thoughts plagued him as he wandered about the camp, his eyes searching frantically. The sounds of the encampment completely prevented his thoughts for half and hour, fueling his despair. He needed The Lion desperately.

Suddenly, he found his feet in front of his own tent, but didn't dare go in. He stood for a long while, taking a long, good look at the gold-emblazoned entrance, frozen as everything about him moved freely without a care in the world.

"Go," a voice breathed in his ear, and The Lion nuzzled his cheek. "Be brave, and be gentle."

Peter nodded, still nervous. His palms were sweaty, grasping the hilt of his sword anxiously as he looked straight ahead at the crimson canvas, eyes following the pattern of gold threads that flashed in the breeze as the tent stirred beneath it. He looked to his side - Aslan had gone again as quietly as he had come, and Peter sighed, attempting to steady himself. He did not know what he would find inside.

Taking the flap of the tent in his shaking fingers, he paused for half a second before entering the pavilion.

What he found took his breath away.

Lying against the pole of the tent, his brother slept soundly. Standing up.

Peter had to smile a bit, ignoring the circumstances for a few sweet moments as he took in the sight of Edmund, with pillows and plush quilts all around him, stubbornly refusing to use them and instead resting in what had to be the most uncomfortable position he could possibly have composed for himself. His heart leapt into his throat at the peaceful expression upon the bruised, dirty, tear-stained face.

He quietly stepped forward, easing the boy off of the beam and into his arms, taken aback slightly at the light frailty of his frame. He carried him carefully to the bed that had been prepared for him, and gently deposited him amongst the many soft cusions. There was true childlike innocence on his face as he slept - Peter watched him for a long while. Had he truly changed? When he had watched him come down the hill and into his sisters' arms that morning, he saw a creature he did not recognize.

Could he have changed? Or was it all still a lie? A huge, nightmarish lie?

Peter sat beside him, unsure of what to do. He examined closely the cuts and bruises strewn across Edmund's pale face - he grimaced at the sight of a large black eye, swollen and dark against colorless skin. What had she done to him? His heart gave a painful throb. There were many cuts surrounding it where blows must have broken skin; he sighed quietly, feeling so much pity but not knowing where to start, or how to help. If he should even help at all.

If he would let him help.

Suddenly, Edmund began to stir uneasily amongst the pillows, coming to. Peter held his breath, eyes wide and heart beginning to race, critically watching every movement his brother made.

Dark chocolate eyes flickered open, dulled with pain as he regained consciousness. He hissed as his own movements irritated his wounds, some of them infected and worsening his condition; he looked about, confusion settling in, eyes suddenly locking with Peter's, widening.  
What Peter saw in them broke his heart.

Fear.

The two were very quiet for a long while, neither moving or making a sound. Edmund breathed in a shuddering breath that suddenly broke the quiet with a fit of dry, dusty coughs that rattled his bones. He had not had a drink of anything for a long while - he could not remember the last time he had. Peter grimaced at the pitiful display; he quickly stood and poured a goblet of wine and pulled a loaf of bread from a basket, returning immediately to his brother's side and helping him to sit up, murmuring in a hushed tone. Peter pressed the cup into Edmund's hands, but he merely stared down into it, as though he were unsure. After another moment of silence, Peter raised his eyebrows.

"Drink," he said gruffly, growing a little impatient. Edmund did as he was told; he sputtered at his first sip, the strong, fermented taste overwhelming him before he quickly drank the cup dry. Peter watched him closely. Edmund was becoming a tad bit frustrating, he thought; this change of attitude was unnatural, somehow. It was as though the fire of his life had been snuffed out completely - he could see it in his eyes. Was Peter supposed to tell him what to do before he did anything? He did not understand why he had to first say something before his brother would obey. Peter came back from his thoughts as Edmund finally found his voice.

"How did I get here?" he asked quietly, nodding to the beam he had originally been resting against. Peter cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable. His brother's voice was so raspy and small.

"I carried you to your bed," he said simply, busying himself with refilling his brother's cup and pressing the loaf into his hands. Edmund was watching him with steady eyes, and Peter tried very hard to avoid his stare. "You seemed exhausted." He tried to be light, and the conversation was awkward, both of them dancing around what neither of them wanted to be the first to mention.

Edmund hung his head, setting the cup and the bread on the side table uneaten. "I'm sorry," he said weakly. Peter looked at him, unsure of what he was referring to. "I didn't mean to fall asleep." Edmund paused, frustrated with himself. "I'm sorry you had to carry me." Peter shook his head, concerned. He waited for a few moments. "I told you to sleep, Ed, it's fine," Peter said at last, a little exasperated, but still attempting lightheartedness. Edmund sighed heavily, putting his head in his hands. Peering closer at him, Peter could see the torn, gashed, heavily lacerated wrists as Edmund's sleeves slipped down his forearms, and he choked.

"When have I ever done what you've told me to do, Peter?" he said in a low voice, emotionless. Peter took the question as rhetorical, and grew solemn as he gathered up a bowl of spiced water and clean rags from the bedside table, taking one of Edmund's hands in his own and pressing the bread back into Edmund's other hand. Peter dipped one of the rags into the water, wringing it and looking into his brother's eyes. Edmund did not make a sound as Peter began to clean his torn, infected wrists, the water stinging terribly with its various medicines and flushing out both blood and dirt as they were cleansed. Edmund bit his lip, overcome; Peter saw this and his heart softened, misinterpreting his response as pain.

"I'm sorry if this hurts, Ed," he said quietly, cleaning slowly and diligently Edmund shook his head, trying to pull his wrist away, eyes clenching shut against tears. "Please stop," he finally whispered, tugging persistently. Peter gripped tighter out of reflex, deeply worried now. "Edmund, this has to happen," he said firmly, his heart breaking. "_Please stop_," Edmund said again, his whimpering and tugging becoming more forceful. Peter gripped him tightly, desperate.

"Ed-"

"**_STOP!_**"

All at once, Peter fell backwards, the water had spilled, the bread and wine fell to the ground, and Edmund capsized the hammock, buried beneath the contents. Peter's temper flared - a very kind Centauress had spent several hours preparing that medicinal water, and Edmund had just wasted it. He snapped in his pent-up frustration.

"_When will you ever stop wrecking everything you touch?_"

Edmund remained quiet, crawling from the pile of quilts and away from Peter, to the corner of the tent. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing sharply. He snapped again. "Why are you so ungrateful for the sacrifices so many people have made for you? Are still making for you?"  
Edmund curled upon himself in the darkened corner, shaking softly. Peter's frustration grew into profound distress.

"Edmund?" he wondered, brushing himself off and rising to his feet. He stepped closer.

"I don't deserve any of it, that's what I've been trying to say," Edmund whispered at last, trembling. "I don't deserve anything, and I don't want you to see me like this."

Peter's breath hitched in his throat, immediately regretting his outburst. He took a step closer, desperate now. "But Ed, I want to see you..." Edmund shook his head violently, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I don't want you to see what I've done to myself. What I deserve."

Peter looked to Edmund's wrists and immediately knew that they weren't the whole story. They were only the prologue to the long-lived, hideous abuse and torture he knew his brother had suffered alone, things both physical and not, and Edmund blamed himself completely. Thought he deserved nothing less. Peter felt so helpless in light of all of this, and sank to his knees.

"Edmund, you can't survive by looking at everything you think you don't deserve and refusing it," Peter said softly, scooting closer and taking his brother's small, icy hand. He swallowed hard, feeling Edmund flinch at the contact. "You haven't eaten in days - you'll die if you don't."

"It will be what I deserve," he snapped bitterly, looking anywhere but at his brother. Peter felt a surge of indignation. "That's not your decision to make," he said, voice forceful enough to make Edmund shrink. "And it wouldn't be what we deserve, either," he said, voice quieting. Edmund looked to him, at a loss. Peter licked his chapped lips nervously. "It's not fair to me or to your sisters for you to choose what you think you deserve, over us, again." He emphasized the last word, letting it hang in the air for a few moments, coloring Edmund's cheeks and causing him to turn his face away.

"We just got you back, Ed..." Peter's voice cracked, all the emotions he'd fought to control all morning and all night and all week finally coming free of his defenses, leaking out. His eyes welled up at the condition of his brother, and he sat back with a great sigh, putting his head in his hands in his helplessness.

He had failed.

Edmund did not move, his expression chastened. He felt ashamed of himself - Aslan had forgiven him completely, and he discredited it by continuing to suffer in his failure. He did not know how to communicate this to his brother; he felt so inadequate. He watched Peter like a hawk, waiting, eyes bright with tears unshed. The silence dragged on for what seemed like ages - two brothers, broken, both unsure how to heal the other. Peter sniffed, wiping his eyes briskly. Edmund dared not even breathe.

"It's not fair of me to be cross with you for the things you feel, either," Peter said at last, turning his eyes to the ground. "I didn't mean to be so harsh the second you returned home - I didn't know why I was feeling so many different emotions, and just like old times, I took it out on you." Tears slipped from Peter's eyes and fell to the grass, staining it dark. "And Edmund, I am so, so sorry for everything I have ever done to push you away and make you feel worthless to me. Because seeing you walk down that hill..."

At this point, Peter had no words. And nor did Edmund, watching his brother fall to raucous sobs as silent tears streaked down his own face, mouth open in shock and heart burning with regret. Peter thought this was his fault. Edmund struggled visibly, trying very hard to find a way to tell his brother that there was nothing he could do wrong, that Peter was perfect and right and just, and he was the one who was wrong. He was the one who needed Peter's forgiveness, not the other way around. Peter gasped, his cries stuttering his speech.

"Seeing you walk down that hill was everything to me. I hadn't realized how much I needed you until you were gone..."

The two sat, separated from each other, both hearts beating erratically and with much sorrow. Peter lifted his head, blue eyes piercing, so much so that Edmund swore his brother could see into his very soul. Edmund trembled, shaking with suppressed sobs, but his glance did not falter. There was a very long pause, filled with the sound of harsh, wet hiccuping.

"Peter..." Edmund started, voice breaking.

He found himself immediately in the warmth and comfort of his brother's arms - a place he had banished himself from for so long. He burst into tears again, clutching at his brother's shirt, burying his face in his neck and laying out the contents of his heart for Peter to clearly see. Peter tangled his fingers in Edmund's thick hair, smothering him in his embrace as he closed his eyes and thanked Aslan thousands upon thousands of times. There would be no more nights filled with uncertainty of his brother's survival. There would be no more sleepless nights where he would just lie awake staring at the empty hammock across from him, shedding quiet tears and simply willing Edmund to be there. He was finally home. He had finally come home. Peter ducked his head.

"I am so sorry, Ed."

Edmund squeezed his eyes shut, balling his fists and resenting those words with all his might. He wished they would go away.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

Peter pulled away, looking at him dumbfounded. Edmund cut him off before he had a chance to argue.

"I knew what I was doing. I didn't realize the cost. I am the one who should be sorry, Peter. I really, really mucked this up." Tears continued to fall steadily, and he began to feel truly exhausted, his focus beginning to slip. He pressed on, stubborn. "I hated you, and I mocked you and scoffed at you and sold you out for candy, which I valued more highly than your life," he said dully, eyes dropping to the floor as the tears fell faster. He didn't want to look at Peter anymore; he didn't want to see the disappointment. "I got exactly what I deserved - if anything, I got less than what I should've. I'm so sorry I caused you to suffer because of what I did."

Much to Edmund's shock, Peter pulled him closer still. They both quieted, listening only to the sounds of the other breathing, Edmund pressing his head to Peter's heart, assuring himself that this was not just some wretched dream. Peter's raw, rumbling voice boomed against his ear.

"I forgive you, Edmund, and I love you."

That was all that was said for a long while. They were brothers again. He was no longer an enemy living in exile, but an accepted and loved part of a family. Peter pulled away from him at long last, assessing his condition. Peter was simply burning inside with the desire to dress his wounds, Edmund could tell, and he smiled weakly.

Edmund's heart felt worth once more.


	5. Strength

A/N - **WARNING - a fair amount of blood/gore in this chapter. **Not a terrible amount, but if you're crazy squeamish, I warned you.

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They filled his heart with strength.

"Oh, Edmund..."

Tears of pain dripped from dark eyes falling shut as he hissed through clenched teeth; shredded, raw skin exposed to the cool night air as Peter looked him up and down, completely lost for words. Peter wiped the tears from Edmund's eyes even as he himself cried, filled with so much grief for his brother's condition as he took the white rag in his hand and wrung it, unsure where to even start.

There was so much blood.

Edmund raised his weary eyes, reaching out to grip the pole of the tent so as to steady himself. Shallow, nervous breaths filled the air as he stood, shivering, stripped to his torn shorts, allowing only his brother and his Savior to experience this nightmare with him. Lucy had begged and pleaded with him to let her use her gift from Father Christmas; she was so giving of herself, so generous even to those who abused her. Edmund took a sharp breath as the breeze floated over his open wounds, stinging him.

_"These are scars I need to keep, Lucy. They're reminders."_

He needed to remember. Moonlight diffused in through the canvas of the tent, staining the grass and casting odd shadows alongside the low candle light. He breathed deeply, the clean scent of Narnia calming him slightly.

_"You're an absolute lunatic!"_ She had shouted in protest, and hearing her say this in his mind brought a warm, fond glow to his heart, knowing she wouldn't understand, and perhaps never would.

But he certainly did.

Peter laid a hand on his shoulder, suffering inwardly. One look into his eyes, and Edmund felt his heart shudder and ache. The pain he felt was reflected back to him in his brother's eyes, and for this he wished he could have undone every single act all the way back to stepping into the wardrobe for the first time. Edmund sighed, turning his head to find The Lion, sitting patiently nearby, waiting. The look of pure compassion in His eyes was enough. Taking a deep breath, he rooted himself once more, shutting his eyes.

"I'm ready."

Peter hesitated, but placed the cloth gingerly against Edmund's ragged, grisly back, and Edmund immediately stiffened, biting down hard on his tongue so as not to howl in agony as the herbs in the warm water penetrated deep into the gashes, driving out the debris and cleansing the area. He gasped, stepping away from Peter for a few moments, eyes squeezed shut. His brother came close, taking his cold hand in his warm one, quiet. Eventually, Edmund opened his eyes, ashamed. "I'm sorry," he muttered dully, turning away from Peter's grasp, feeling so much less than he. Bile rose bitterly in his throat as his senses were assaulted from all angles. He gasped in shock, breeze kicking up and chilling him to his bones. _Ice..._

_"Weak," She spat, flecks of his blood staining her cold white cheeks. His pleading and unearthly howls filled the chamber following each crack, her cool, amused laughter breaking him. "Sons of Adam were never meant to be kings. Weak."_

_His throat rending itself raw, darkness consumed him._

He felt Aslan's eyes upon him from the other side of the tent. He looked to him, tears welling up in his misery, hoping against hope to be saved from the demons rising in his chest and holding him. He saw tears in the Lion's eyes, and he was comforted, warmth seeping into his being once more. He cast his eyes downward, nodding hesitantly for Peter to begin again.

_If I can be strong, I can make up for my mistakes..._

The cloth hit his skin and he dug his fingernails into the tent pole, hissing and scrunching up his whole face in agony. It burned him to his very core - he felt as though he would truly die. He had been dancing with death the past few days, it seemed; this was not the first time he felt so very close to the edge of the icy sensation threatening to overtake him. He endured it for a few minutes before Peter reached the deepest cuts.

He screamed.

Peter immediately stopped, startled, rushing to his brother and gripping his forearms. Edmund's knees went weak, leaning into the blond for support. Peter shook uncontrollably, his heart racing and his breathing very harsh. "Oh, Ed..." He choked, voice strangled. Edmund lifted his head to Peter's, pleading.

"Peter," he said in a small voice, forcing Peter to lean in even closer, "I need you to gag me."

His brother paled completely. "Edmund..."

"If you don't, I'm going to wake up the whole camp. Please," he begged, knowing this had to be done. Peter unwillingly but obediently rose to his feet and found another rag, handing it gently but regretfully to his brother. Edmund took it and stuffed it into his mouth, sinking his teeth into it and shivering at the resemblance to his treatment the night before. He gripped the beam of the tent once more, and nodded despairingly. Peter was overcome with heartache, wishing for this all to be past as he closed his eyes and placed the rag to his brother's back once more.

Pass over pass over pass of the rag across his torn skin, the water purifying him and causing him so much anguish and distress that after a few minutes he sank to his knees, tears streaming, sobs muffled by the cloth. He couldn't do it. He wasn't strong enough, and he would never escape his past.

_"__**Weak**__!"_

At this point Aslan came near, crouching down to nuzzle his head beneath Edmund's, acting as support and lifting him to shaking feet again. Edmund simply cried, wrapping his arms around His mighty neck and allowing Him to support his full weight as he could not carry on any longer. Aslan solemnly nodded to Peter to continue.

Each scream that broke the quiet stillness seared Peter's heart, and it was all he could do to not simply gather his brother in his arms and end this misery. But the healer, after examining Edmund closely, gravely informed them both that if his wounds weren't attended to before midnight, the infection would become lethal very quickly. She made up another bowl of spiced water, gave Peter the supplies and told him they could do it privately if they wished.

Edmund let loose another wretched sound from behind the gag, back heaving as he sobbed into The Lion's mane. Peter was so thankful for Aslan's presence - he himself would have broken a long time ago had it not been for the strength the Lion was providing him. He was sure Edmund felt the same way.

"I'm sorry, Edmund," he muttered uselessly, rinsing the bloodied rag and wringing it again. Edmund only cried bitterly, completely limp against Aslan's side. Peter's intense, burning hatred for the Witch continued to simmer in his heart, growing with each rending scream from his brother. She did this. She took his brother from his protection; she beat and marred him nearly beyond recognition, inside and out. Peter's fury only grew hotter as the minutes ticked by, accompanied only by Edmund's breathless weeping as he finished the area on his back. Taking his brother's wrists, he did the same, though the cuts weren't nearly as deep as the whip marks on his back.

She had beaten him to the point of unconsciousness, Edmund had confessed to him quietly, only with Aslan standing near. Edmund found strength in Aslan's presence, and Peter knew it wouldn't be very long before he would open up completely to him on his own, without the Lion physically near. The small details he revealed to Peter were horrific, and he could scarce believe his brother was alive. By the grace of The Lion, Edmund had survived, and only by that grace, they all knew.

Dark hair fluttered beneath the warm breeze of Aslan's calming breath, washing over Edmund like a tidal wave. "It is over," He spoke over him, finality in His voice. Edmund did not move from his position against The Lion's side, trembling quietly. Peter hurriedly prepared the wrappings, speaking in a soft voice. "Edmund, I have to apply a salve before I bandage you," he said, quietly laying a steadying hand upon his shoulder. He bit his lip when he felt the iciness of his brother's skin bite against his fingers. He scooped some of the foul-smelling cream into his palm, and delicately but generously applied it to each slash. Though it did not come with the same searing pain, Edmund still cried out, hot tears rolling down his cheeks as he gripped His Savior's fur, desperate. "Peace," Aslan whispered over him, whiskers tickling Edmund's cheeks.

After what felt like several long, agonizing centuries, Edmund's wounds were cleansed. Peter wrapped him carefully in gauze, taking care not to pain him further as he dressed him. Pulling away from Aslan at long last, Edmund looked into His golden eyes, and felt so emotionally empty; he had nothing left to give. Peter dropped to the ground beside his brother, draping a warm blanket over his shoulders and taking his hand in his own; he was fully drained as well, eyes red from his tears. Edmund leaned his forehead against The Lion's, not breaking eye contact. He whispered apologies, tangling his fingers in His mane. "I'm not strong enough, Aslan," he exhaled, quieter even than the breeze. Aslan's expression turned disapproving suddenly, scolding. "Edmund," he rumbled, causing him to shrink away. "You will never be able to pay the price for your failures - whether or not you have strength - and this is my greatest Gift to you. You must not dishonor Me."

The thin, broken boy shook between Aslan's paws, crushed. Peter's heart broke for him again, not for the first time that day. Aslan's expression softened. "You were made for Greatness, Child. You were made for Me. I will make you Strong. I will make you like Me, and nothing can stand in your way." The Great Lion's gaze shifted to Peter as well, including him in His statement. "You are Mine, and you are not weak. You are Mine, Son of Adam, and you will never be alone again." His voice was just a whisper now, warm and golden and everything Edmund needed as he continued to play with the Lion's mane, tears falling silently once more, grateful beyond words. "I'm sorry," he muttered, unable to say anything else. A wild Lion's kiss planted itself on his forehead, and he closed his eyes.

"You are Mine. Your weakness is far away; you left it with Her. She can't lie to you anymore. You are** Mine**."

So wholly, wonderfully, happily His.

Edmund leaned against His side, exhausted beyond words. Peter scooted close to him, wrapping his arms around his wan form, drawing him close, his heart lifted and thanking Aslan over and over in a continuous joyful mantra he had begun that morning. He played idly with the long raven locks of Edmund's hair, so filled with love and sorrow for his brother's suffering, but hopeful. He listened to the sound of deep, quiet breaths, indicating his brother's peaceful sleep. "I love you, Ed," he whispered softly, pulling him closer.

"I love you, too," was the murmured response, and Peter's heart was filled to overflowing.

The Lion rumbled in a large golden purr, sheltering both of His sons between His paws, guarding their slumber and keeping them from nighttime demons. They slept, hearts strengthened and binded together like never before. Edmund finally felt absolute peace, caught up in two sets of loving arms - held by his Lion and his brother.

His heart beat strong.

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